


mine

by keyshrine



Series: you inspired me [2]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, MORE CUTE KISSING OH NO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyshrine/pseuds/keyshrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was—“ Supergirl begins, and then stops. Cat just barely manages to refrain from gritting her teeth; if there is one thing that she doesn't appreciate, it's people stopping in the midst of sentences. Supergirl's very lucky that she's developed a tolerance for this sort of thing, between her and Kara—it's a very minuscule tolerance, and one that fades quickly if it is not dealt with, but it's a tolerance all the same. Supergirl seems to notice this, and hurries on hastily, “I was thinking about how...beautiful you looked.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	mine

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy i guess this is a series now. i mean i've gotta have some kind of outlet for all of my Emotions regarding these two right
> 
> im glad that you guys seem to enjoy reading it as much as i enjoy writing it!!

“Stop doing that,” Cat mumbles huffily, attention split in two directions; her phone and Supergirl, who has been staring at her for the past—Cat pauses her scrolling to think—twelve minutes, without pause. The order is given in an offhanded way, but it is still an _order,_ and she sees the hero jolt out of the corner of her eye, as though she'd thought that she was being perfectly stealthy in her overly-blatant way of gazing at Cat in a way that had become less amusing and flattering long ago and more irritating and vaguely uncomfortable, only because Cat had very little idea of what she was thinking.

And she doesn't like it.

She doesn't _like_ not knowing what Supergirl is thinking; she doesn't like not knowing what anyone is thinking, really, but Supergirl especially. They're out on her office's balcony again, for the third time in a week. Supergirl visits more and more often, when she's not off doing what superheroes do best like saving kittens from trees and rescuing puppies from rivers. (And saving people, and more people, and more people; and fighting, and fighting, and fighting.)

Cat certainly isn't going to be the one to stop these visits. She also certainly won't say anything like _I like when you visit me, and I like when you stay, I like it very much,_ because that was far too maudlin for her tastes, not to mention ridiculous and idiotic and sounded like something out of some cheap romance-laden Hallmark movie.

Plus, she wasn't that needy. Sure, it was not unpleasant at all to be in Supergirl's company, and the idea of it being a weekly or perhaps even daily thing was not something that she did not enjoy, but she had never once thought of clinging to Supergirl like a child clinging to their mother's skirts whenever the girl was about to leave.

After all, she had the assurance that there would always be a return, inevitable as anything, and if Cat ever did long for Supergirl's company so much that she couldn't just wait for the Kryptonian to come to her on her own, she had a number to call.

Any time, night or day, Supergirl had told her when first giving her that number on a small slip of folded paper, and while Cat knew that she had meant for urgent, professional matters only, it also came in use for other matters.

And the girl certainly didn't seem to mind. Naturally.

If she did, Cat wouldn't have ever called her at all and they would not be here, now, sitting together on the balcony, in a tranquil silence disrupted only by the honking of cars below them and the occasional vibrating of Cat's phone to signify a new text.

Cat doesn't look up from her phone's screen, lit up as it is in her hands, her eyes darting over the text—but she's always been excellent at multi-tasking, at talking and doing all at the same time, at committing herself to two or three or four things at once, and this situation is no different. In her peripheral vision, Supergirl shifts where she's leaned against the balcony wall, and Cat's gaze very briefly flits to the tips of those red boots, watches ankles uncross and cross again, left over right to right over left.

“Doing what?” Supergirl asks after a moment, and her voice is so heavy with the most obvious kind of oops-you-caught-me tone that Cat rolls her eyes. Doing what, indeed.

“You know what,” she says without ever looking up from her phone, eyes drawn away from those boots as quickly as they'd trailed over.

There's a moment of silence. A long moment, that extends into several long moments, and Cat allows it. She allows most things, with Supergirl, really, and she shouldn't but she does anyway because Supergirl is...well, Supergirl. She's allowed some room to maneuver, to pause and think over her actions and words. No one else would be, in Cat's company, but Supergirl has never been anyone else.

“I'm sorry,” Supergirl murmurs, eventually, and Cat rolls her eyes. Again.

“Did I ask for an apology?”

Silence. At least Supergirl recognizes that question as the rhetorical one that it is. Cat swallows a sigh and begins, slowly, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, Miss Grant. I was only...thinking.”

Cat just barely manages not to snort at that name. _Miss Grant._ They know each other so well by now and it is still _Miss Grant;_ they've done a multitude of things _beyond_ kissing and it is still _Miss Grant,_ and it is somehow endearing and irritating all at once, but more the former than the latter and so Cat allows it. For now. It has not quite grown tiring to hear yet. “Of?” she drawls impatiently, fingertips tapping against clothed thigh.

She watches Supergirl watch that action, the steady flicker of her fingers against her leg, and knows the precise moment in which Supergirl decides to tell her, being wise for once and choosing not to risk Cat's wrath. Impatience, after all, turns to annoyance, and annoyance turns to anger. “You,” Supergirl says, and Cat blinks.

That was not the answer she had been expecting. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't know _what_ answer she had been expecting, but that wasn't it. She sets her phone aside, stands from her preferred cushy armchair, closes the distance between them. For a moment, Supergirl looks, amusedly, like a trapped animal, eyes widening slightly, but then she relaxes when Cat makes no move to do whatever she seems to expect her to do.

Instead, Cat simply stands there, observing the other through a speculative, narrowed gaze.

“What _about_ me?”

Steadily, a redness floods Supergirl's cheeks, and Cat can see it even in the relative darkness, the only light that of the light still on in her office behind them and the one overhead, on the outside wall; it is, as it's ever been, oddly attractive, but Cat doesn't bat a lash and only waits with an air of further impatience about her, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hm?” she persists, never moving her eyes off of the woman standing opposite her.

“I was—“ Supergirl begins, and then stops. Cat just barely manages to refrain from gritting her teeth; if there is one thing that she doesn't appreciate, it's people stopping in the midst of sentences. Supergirl's very lucky that she's developed a tolerance for this sort of thing, between her and Kara—it's a very minuscule tolerance, and one that fades quickly if it is not dealt with, but it's a tolerance all the same. Supergirl seems to notice this, and hurries on hastily, “I was thinking about how...beautiful you looked.”

 _Oh,_ Cat thinks, but is saved from the possibility of simply staring like an idiot when Supergirl continues, a little more calmly, and with a little more sly amusement, “And I was also thinking of whether or not I should be insulted that you found your phone more interesting than me.”

Cat snorts, steps closer. “Well,” she says, “You weren't doing anything to try and get my attention, now, were you?” There is only a few inches of space left between them now, not quite the gaping chasm that it had been before, and Cat lets her eyes go half-lidded, finds herself thinking of pressing Supergirl further up against that balcony wall and kissing her.

Supergirl looks down at her, then, lips curling in some soft sweet smile and Cat finds herself thinking of two more things: of how much she _hates_ being shorter than someone else, and how much she likes that smile. “Would it have worked if I had?” Supergirl asks, quietly.

Cat tilts her head, arches a brow— “Well, you never know until you try.”

Supergirl laughs—really, it's more like a giggle than anything, but the fact is that it is an airy, bright sound, not obnoxiously loud and not too shyly quiet, it's somewhere in the middle instead and Cat thinks about how much she likes that laugh, too, and then decides she's too full of _like_ for her own good and lifts a hand to curl her fingers around Supergirl's forearm, steps back and pulls Supergirl with her.

If Supergirl wanted to, she could stay put; she could pull against that grip, or she could simply not budge an inch instead, but she acts as though Cat truly is capable of moving her and follows along willingly, watches as Cat lowers herself back into her chair. She lingers by indecisively afterwards; Cat shoots a pointed look at the arm of the chair and the hero seems to get the hint, sitting there.

Cat cranes her head up, slightly, until it nearly rests against the back of the chair, and Supergirl meets her halfway, mouth pressing against hers in a kiss that is warm and soft and gentle and entirely sweet, never mind the fact that her lips are a little dry and she's a little over-eager her hands hover around Cat like she's unsure where to put them.

Cat doesn't mind any of those things; Supergirl will learn and adjust, eventually, but for now this kiss is nowhere near unpleasant despite the dryness and the eagerness and the hovering, and none of that matters, only _this_ matters, and the way it feels like Supergirl melts into and against the kiss with a little sigh of contentment.

There's an odd noise somewhere, after that. Supergirl pulls away with a kind of slowness that Cat understands as great reluctance, and for a moment she doesn't understand why; and then Supergirl looks to the phone on the opposite arm of the chair, vibrating, buzzing in that awfully annoying way. It's strange—it had never bothered Cat, not really, not up until now.

The younger woman's hand snaps out and catches it before it vibrates right off of the chair's arm, holds it out to Cat with that sweet, subdued smile still on her face.

Cat glances from the phone to her and makes a decision that she does not come to regret, not even later, “They can wait,” she says, and Supergirl seems far more surprised and taken aback by that than she should be, really.

“Are you sure?” That smile turns slightly sheepish. “Not that I'm _complaining._ ”

Cat rolls her eyes again and leans up to close the distance between them in reply. “I'm sure,” she says in a murmur against the girl's mouth, and kisses her again.


End file.
